Hell & Back
by Han-22x
Summary: When Draco Malfoy appears, covered in blood and cuts-sprawled on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry doesn't know what to think. Someone like Draco Malfoy could be useful. However Harry didn't expect to fall in love with him as well.. Please review!
1. Blood & Snow

**Hell & Back**

* * *

Harry Potter was completely and utterly exhausted.

He collapsed in his favourite armchair, finished with drawing up the plan of action for the next few months. The fact remained that, despite Voldemort being gone, there were a great deal too many Death Eaters still out there – perhaps even biding their time before they knocked out the Ministry and took over the world again.

And that was the last thing Harry needed.

He was in 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, waiting for the other Order members to arrive back for the meeting. He rubbed his eyes wearily. All day, he had been planning, scribbling out and writing. And still, he was no closer to deciding what to do. The other Order members had been out searching for any vital clues of Death Eater whereabouts, but Harry's hopes weren't high.

He knew that whenever the Death Eaters decided to attack again, he could do nothing about it.

He was resigned to the fact that he could do nothing. But he hated it.

As these thoughts clouded his exhausted brain, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep – his mind full of the brutal murders, the destroyed buildings and the massacres he had had to witness. And the screaming. The endless screaming.

* * *

Harry's eyes flew open. The first thing he registered was the fact that his glasses were digging rather uncomfortably into his face. But what had woken him up?

He was slumped in the armchair, hand draped over the side, head buried into a cushion. He raised his head slowly, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the world around him. But what had woken him up?

And then he heard the knocking at the door.

"Knocking" would be putting it mildly. Whoever was out in the street was literally throwing their whole body weight against the wooden door, making the most deafening racket. Whoever it was, it couldn't be an Order member, because they all had their own means to get in. But who else had been told by the Secret Keeper? It didn't make sense.

Harry stood up quickly, ignoring the dizzying sensation he immediately got in his head. He gripped his wand, and headed out into the doorway, and towards the front door.

The door was quaking, as something outside was hitting it repetitively. If this was Ron's idea of a joke… Harry's heart was thumping, and his heart was beating faster. Who was it? Who was out there, in the freezing cold snow?

The small glass window in the door was covered in snow, blurring the outside figure's shape. Whoever it was, they were human – and they weren't particularly fierce looking.

Bracing himself mentally, wand gripped tightly in one hand – Harry opened the door quickly with the other one.

At first all he could see was the whirling snow, as white snowflakes whipped his face relentlessly. It was pitch black out there; the street lights had all appeared to have gone out.

And then a figure emerged from nowhere, rising from the blackness.

Before Harry could register a flash of whitest blonde or the glimpse of red, blood red, the figure had collapsed on the doorstep, shaking uncontrollably.

He had to get whoever it was, out of the cold. His Gryffindor traits took over any suspicions or worries about security, as he dragged the cloaked figure into the hallway – wand pointed at him at all times, of course. He slammed shut the door, and stared at the lifeless figure, melting snow dripping off their black cloak.

And then Harry noticed, with a shock so great it seemed to paralyse him, that there was also a deeper colour seeping from underneath the cloak. A dark red was spreading along the wooden floorboards, pouring out from the shivering figure on the floor.

Harry tore the cloak off the figure. It took nearly all his self control to prevent him from fainting right then.

The person, the deathly pale person, was covered in cuts and gashes – each seeping blood in earnest, as if someone had savagely hacked his body. A particularly nasty cut, which had torn the fabric of his robes, reached from his neck down to his hips, as if someone had slashed him with a sword. The wrists were the worst bit though, as they were slashed mercilessly.

Trying to control his shaking fingers, Harry at once cast a simple healing spell over the almost lifeless body, and watched with some relief as the cuts began to heal. He repeated the spell until the cuts and gashes had closed up, excepting the one starting at his neck. It refused to heal, and the person was losing a lot of blood by it. He knew that Hermione would know how to deal with it, as Harry wasn't strong on the basic healing magic, and so instead he improvised by doing it the Muggle way. Using some clean rags he found in the kitchen, he soaked them in water and bound the wound. That would at least hold until the others came back.

The black hood still covered the person's face, and it was carefully that Harry removed the black folds hiding his identity.

He almost fell over in shock.

He was looking into the unconscious face of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Harry had dragged Draco into the only spare bed in the house, in the room he shared with Ron. It was strange to see Draco Malfoy's face arranged in an almost peaceful expression – without the trademark smirk, or an expression of hated. It looked as if he was sleeping, his head poking out over the thick covers of the bed. His white blonde hair was the same as ever, if rather dirty. Dried blood covered his face, but Harry could still see the Malfoy-pale skin standing out underneath it. Scars decorated his face, but apart from that – it was the same old Malfoy.

Harry watched over him, keeping a careful eye on him - in case he woke up. Harry's mind was overflowing with questions: Why had he appeared at Harry's doorstep? Why was he so badly injured? Had he cut himself, or had someone else?

Why Draco Malfoy?

As his mind was pondering, he heard the front door slam downstairs and realised that the rest of the Order had returned.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight", started Ron, face rearranged disbelievingly. "Draco Malfoy turned up at this doorstep, collapsed, bled all over the floor – and now he's in my room, unconscious?"

Harry nodded, fully aware of the stares he was getting from the Order members.

"I don't believe it".

Harry had just finished telling his story to his friends, who's faces had changed from disbelieving, to shocked, to disgust – and to worry.

"Is he –well, is he safe?" asked Ginny nervously. "I mean, he is a Death Eater isn't he?"

"I don't know, Ginny", responded Harry. "He doesn't have a Dark Mark".

The entire kitchen breathed a sigh of relief.

"But still", started Ron angrily. "He is definitely not on our side, is he? He's not fighting for us. He's a dirty ferret, who as good as killed Dumbledore. I think he should go".

Harry stood up, and faced Ron.

"This is _my_ house, Ron, and Malfoy stays here. There's something not quite right about this whole thing. And we can get information out of him, useful information that could prevent us from running around in circles so much".

"Whatever you say, Harry", said Hermione, smiling weakly.

"Only if you're sure", said Lupin. "He could be trouble".

"I can handle it", replied Harry, curtly. "Now, Hermione. I was hoping that you could have a look at this cut…"

"Lead the way, Harry".

* * *

It looked as if he was sleeping, curled up bed. His hair lay limp over his bloodied face, and it didn't even look as if he was breathing. Hermione felt for a pulse, and she smiled reassuringly at Harry when she felt one.

"Let's have a look at this cut then, shall we?"

Draco was wearing a spare pair of Harry's pyjamas, which Harry quickly unbuttoned. Hermione gasped at the sheer extent of scars patterning Draco's pale white body. He was covered in thin lines, and in some cases – larger gashes which were only just mending. The neck cut, which almost reached down to his hips was still open, and it looked cruelly painful.

Hermione raised her wand and muttered a few words. No change. She frowned. She muttered some more words, and waved the wand over the cut, but still – no other change. Hermione sighed, and looked at Harry.

"This is dark magic, Harry. I can't heal it…"

"But we can't just leave it like that! Look at it!" burst out Harry, looking at the cut in disgust.

"There's one more thing I can do", replied Hermione.

"And that is?"

"The Muggle way", replied Hermione grimly, reaching for her First Aid Bag.

"You don't mean?"

"Stitches", responded Hermione, pulling out a terrifying looking needle out of the bag.

* * *

After they had finished sewing up Draco Malfoy, which – surprisingly – worked, Harry and Hermione made their way back to the kitchen where the Order meeting was taking place. Before they went in, however, Hermione stopped Harry, and beckoned him into the Drawing room.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"What do you think happened to him?" asked Hermione, biting her lip in worry.

"I honesty don't know. Hopefully he can tell us soon. Do you think he'll get through?"

"Hopefully. I've never seen such horrific wounds before, but you healed them well – and, he's well looked after here. Do you think he'll be useful?"

"I hope so. He could be the missing link in this whole puzzle".

"Don't be too hard on him, Harry. It hasn't been easy for him…"

"Hermione, he -"

"Yes, Harry. I know what he did. And I also know what he didn't do. He didn't kill Albus Dumbledore. He isn't all bad".

"You might be right".

As Harry lay in bed that night, listening to the storm lashing against the windows outside, his thoughts kept drifting back to Draco Malfoy. He hadn't thought about him in almost 4 years. But now it was all rushing back.

No matter how hard he tried, Draco Malfoy remained persistently in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push him out.

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Please review? :)


	2. Draco Malfoy's Story

**Chapter 2 - Draco Malfoy's story**

* * *

It wasn't long before Draco Malfoy woke up.

Harry was sitting on the end of the bed, absent-mindedly reading _Curses & Counter-curses: The Guide_, and every so often we would glance over the pages at the lifeless man in the bed.

His cuts and bruises were healing, slowly but surely. Some scars were fading, but a lot were still painfully real, and Hermione winced every time she opened up his shirt to take a look at how he was doing.

The rest of the Order had accepted the unconscious guest with hardly any questions, excepting Ron and, Harry suspecting to a certain extent, Tonks. She hadn't said much, but her expression of disdain and shock had been enough. Ron refused to put the past behind him, and he couldn't go a day without making some cutting remark about "Ferret boy", or the "Junior Death Eater upstairs"

Hermione had said she expected him to wake up any time soon, which was why Harry had taken up camp in the bedroom, waiting expectantly for Malfoy to come back to the land of the living. He wanted to speak to him, to ask him what had happened. His curiosity was taking over him.

But he still nearly fell off the end of the bed when an eye suddenly flew open.

"Malfoy?" he asked, uncertainly, mentally preparing himself for what was sure to be an explosion of anger from Malfoy when he saw who was watching over him.

Draco Malfoy opened both his steely grey eyes, and tried, very slowly to sit up. But he soon discovered that this was very difficult, and so he slumped onto the pillow.

"Where – where am I?"

He looked around the room more alertly, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the cracked window panes, and the dirty floorboards. "What is this place?"

He groaned and rubbed his face wearily. When he next opened his eyes, his gaze fell right on Harry.

"POTTER? What the HELL are you doing here?" yelped Draco, sitting up straight and hitting his head on the headboard.

"Well, Malfoy", said Potter – quite loudly, over the noise of Malfoy swearing – "This is _my_ house, so I have every right to be here".

Harry then saw the look on Malfoy's face. It wasn't arrogance or anger - it wasn't a mocking expression. It was simply, fear. Malfoy was terrified.

"Back off, Potter!" whispered Malfoy. "Leave me alone!"

"Malfoy", said Harry, more calmly. "You arrived on my doorstep four days ago, covered in cuts, covered in blood. You then passed out, and you've been unconscious ever since. Hermione and I patched you up, and you've been here ever since."

Malfoy refused to look into Harry's eyes, and instead concentrated on his pale hands, on the criss-crossing lines which decorated his skin.

"Potter – just leave me alone. Just – go", he whispered, as he lifted up his sleeves and saw the red scars which lined his wrists.

"Malfoy -"

"GET OUT POTTER!" he yelled, eyes flashing furiously.

Harry took one look at him, at the pale, scarred, frightened person in front of him – and then left, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

"Malfoy's awake, Hermione", announced Harry as he sat down on the kitchen chair, which creaked dangerously. Hermione was reading _The Daily Prophet_, which was spread out over the kitchen table, the moving pictures flickering. Harry noticed, for the first time, the bags under her eyes, and the way she stifled a yawn when he walked in. She was obviously exhausted, but she perked up as soon as Harry spoke.

"Is he? Awake? Well, that's brilliant, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure, Hermione". Harry sat back in his chair, and dazed absent-mindedly at the ceiling.

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"Well, Malfoy – he's frightened Hermione. He's bloody terrified. He hasn't said anything, apart from ordering me to get out of my own bedroom."

Harry looked into Hermione's eyes.

"He's changed, Hermione. He's – well, he's broken."

Hermione sighed, and pushed back her hair with her fingers. "Maybe I should go and talk to him. See what's upsetting him."

"Hermione, if you're going to speak to him, I'm going with you. He may be weak and frightened, but he's still Malfoy. I'm not letting you go in there by yourself".

"Fine, Harry. But don't say anything."

"What? Why?"

"He's still Malfoy. And you two – well, you don't really get on, do you?"

* * *

Hermione carefully pushed open the bedroom door, and poked her head around it.

"Er – Ma – I mean, Draco? Can I come in?"

"I don't want you here, _Mudblood_. Leave me alone. Just go", came a whisper from inside the room.

Behind Hermione, Harry waited impatiently while balancing a tray which had a bowl of steaming soup on it. "Hermione -", he hissed.

"I've got food, Malfoy", said Hermione, opening the door a little wider.

No reply.

Encouraged, Hermione stepped into the room, snatching the tray out of Harry's hands. She walked over to the bed, and handed the tray over to Draco.

Without saying thank you, or saying anything – not even anything cutting, Malfoy picked up the spoon and hungrily wolfed the bread and soup down. It was obvious that he was starving.

While Malfoy ate, Harry and Hermione dragged over some chairs to the side of the bed and sat down – glancing at each other every so often nervously. When Malfoy had finished, he pushed the bowl away.

"That was good", he acknowledged, his eyes hid under strands of dirty blonde hair. "Even if a Mudblood made it…"

Hermione could see that Harry was going to react, and so she glared at him angrily, stopping him. Instead, she turned towards Malfoy herself, and spoke in a strained voice. "Malfoy, I saved your life, as did Harry – so I would be glad if you could at least treat us with some respect. At let's start with not using the word _Mudblood _in the house?"

Draco looked up, and glared at her with his cold silver eyes. She met his stare coolly, and the two held the gaze for some time, before Draco dropped his eyes.

"Right", started Hermione, triumphantly. "Malfoy – why don't you tell us what happened 4 days ago?"

"4 days ago?"

"How did you arrive at Harry's house, covered in blood?"

"I – I don't remember".

It was clear that he was lying, from the way he avoided their gaze, and from the way his voice slightly cracked as he spoke.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Malfoy – you arrived at Harry's house of your own accord. You must have wanted help, of some sort. Tell us what happened. It'll make everything seem better".

"How would you know, you filthy little Mudblood?" spat Malfoy, loathing evident in his voice.

Harry stood up. "Don't you dare call her a Mudblood again, Malfoy", he snarled. "Telling us may not make everything completely fine, but at least then we can help you, we can do something about it. If you refuse to tell us anything, we're going to have to either let you go – and for all I know, you could be attacked again – or we'll have to hand you in to Azkaban. You're wanted, you know. For taking part in Death Eater activities"

"I have had nothing to do with the Death Eaters!" shouted Malfoy, sitting up again.

"Tell us what happened, Draco", whispered Hermione, looking at him. "You're safe here – what you tell us could help us. You do want to help us don't you? I don't think you would have arrived here if you didn't want to".

Draco avoided her eyes, and only said "Don't call me Draco", in a half hearted whisper.

"Well, Malfoy?" said Harry.

Draco nodded slowly, and then started to speak. At first, his voice cracked, but as he carried on, he became more confident.

"It was that night. The night when I – I failed to kill Dumbledore. I was sent back to the Manor, and - he – the Dark Lord was there. He was angry" – Malfoy shivered – "Angrier than I can imagine with me. I failed him, so I had to be gotten rid of.

"He told me that I was going to be his torture victim – I would be kept in the Manor dungeons, and brought out again, time and time again – to be cursed with the Cruciatus curse – until there was nothing left in me -

"I was locked in the dungeons, as he had taken over the Manor by then. My parents – they had to obey him, or they'd be killed instantly. They cared, though – they were crying, I saw them. I've never seen my father cry before that day, before I was dragged into the dungeons.

"I was never brought any food. I was in there for – I don't even remember how long. Day and night weren't separated, it was a blur. Sometimes people were locked there with me, other times I was alone. Completely alone. It seemed as though they had forgotten me, locked down below. I wanted to be forgotten – so I could never be cursed, but at the same time, I didn't want to starve to death in the dark.

And then, they sent for me – him. The Dark Lord sent for me. I made to go into this room, there were lots of candles, and – they, the Death Eaters were standing in a circle with me at the centre. The Dark Lord was smiling. I remember that. He was smiling. It was terrifying.

And then there was so – so much pain"- Tears had started to roll down Draco's cheeks – "It was if I was being attacked with knives again and again, as if something was stabbing me all over. It was excruciating – the pain. I think I was screaming, but I can't remember exactly – all I remember is the pain. It was ongoing, it was everlasting. Even when he stopped cursing me, I could still feel the pain. I can feel it now", Malfoy looked into Harry's eyes earnestly. "Then, all the Death Eaters took their turn. Every single one. They all performed the Cruciatus curse on me, and they all laughed while they did it. Even – my Father. He didn't want to, but he had to – otherwise the Dark Lord would kill him and mother. So he had to look at me and Crucio me. My own Father.

"After they had finished with me, I was locked back in the dungeons. I don't remember for how long, all I know is that whenever I heard the slightest noise – I would almost break down in fear. I know, I know I'm weak, I know I'm a coward. But you have no idea how much pain was inflicted on me and for how long he carried it on."

Here, Malfoy stopped speaking for a bit, as if he was pausing to regain his thoughts. Harry glanced at Hermione, and saw that her face was pale in horror. Harry had never thought that he would feel sorry for Malfoy, but looking into Malfoy's deep grey eyes, he could feel nothing but pity.

"You're not weak, Malfoy", he murmured. "No one should have to go through that."

Draco looked into Harry's eyes, and nodded, before speaking again.

"In the end, my mother was the one who saved me. I don't know how she got there, but she crept into the dungeons one night, and she unlocked the door. She is the only one I trusted, so I followed her into the night. It was dark, and it all felt wrong somehow. As if someone was watching. My – mother, she gave me a piece of paper, she said she'd got it from Snape. Before he had – died. He had told her to use what's written on it, if she, or I, were in any danger at all. But, just after she gave me the piece of paper, they – they arrived."

"The Death Eaters?" asked Hermione, eyes opened wide in fright.

Draco nodded.

"And then – they killed my mum. The Avada Kedavra curse. There was this flash of green light, and then she just crumpled to the ground."

Tears had started to fall in earnest from Draco's silver eyes. "I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't wake – so I ran – I just ran. They were trying to kill me, all of them – green light kept flashing next to me, but I just kept going –

"And then, one of them hit me. It wasn't the Avada Kedavra, obviously, but it was some sort of Dark Magic. It was if something was slashing me open – it was almost like – that curse you used on me in the bathroom, in sixth year. Except, the pain – it was almost unbearable. Blood was pouring, I nearly fell over, but I was hiding behind a tree – I could hear them, but all I could see was blood - I opened that piece of paper my mum gave me, it was an address – I had no time to think, I apparated there."

"And – you came here?" asked Harry.

"Barely. I was losing blood fast, I thought I was going to die – there, outside in the street, in the snow. But, it didn't seem so bad, dying. It was almost welcoming. At least I could escape everything…"

"And is that when you did it?", asked Hermione, voice full of emotion.

"Did what?", asked Harry, who was completely lost.

"Isn't it obvious, Harry? Draco cut himself. To escape", said Hermione bitterly.

Harry stared at Draco Malfoy, the broken boy sitting in front of him, someone who had been brought into things way out of his capabilities. It wasn't his fault, Harry could see that. No one should have gone thought what he did.

"Yes", whispered Draco. "I have a knife. A silver one. I didn't think, I thought I was dying anyway. But I knew it would be the way out. And I wanted to feel more pain. I wanted to feel pain, because I knew everything was my fault."

Harry couldn't speak, he was full of shock.

"And then – I don't know, I realised – too late of course, that maybe I could change – maybe there was more to me than most people thought. I – I was outside your door, and, well – I knew I had nothing to lose – so I threw myself at it. There was no answer, so I kept hitting the door, I was so – desperate. I just kept hitting the door – the door opened, and then, I don't remember anything else. Until I woke up and saw Potter."

There was silence after Draco's story. The three of them sat in silence, listening to the sound of raindrops against the window. There didn't seem to be anything to say, but Malfoy broke the quiet.

"I – Could you leave me alone now? I need some time", he murmured, avoiding eyes. He was staring at his scars again.

Hermione nodded and left quickly, followed by Harry, who stopped for a second at the door.

"Draco?"

"You didn't call me Malfoy, Potter. Why?"  
"I don't know, it just seemed – right."

"You don't have to like me, you know, Potter. You can throw me out".

Harry shook his head. "I'm not going to, Malfoy".

"Why not? Pity?" Malfoy laughed bitterly.

"I think you've got a lot to give".

Draco didn't speak.

"I am – sorry, Malfoy."

But by the time Malfoy had looked up from his scar-covered arms, Harry had gone, shutting the wooden door quietly behind him.

* * *

Please review? :)


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